So was my dad and Pete Davidson.

Gunfire was echoing in the distance as the crowd hit the pavement. Dave Chappelle pushed Pete Davidson behind some barrels for cover, and I ran through the chaos to join them. I had something to tell them. The sky darkened with stormy clouds as a monstrous beast rose before us—part ghost, part demon. Its eyes and mouth burned fiery red, and its guttural roars pushed us back. As I thought it would devour us, I cried, "PEACE, BE STILL!" Then, I woke up and grabbed my pen.
My tagline in comedy is: I DON'T KILL. I RESURRECT.
Enough with the comedy that’s mean or crude. Where’s the fun and lightheartedness of Steve Martin, Martin Short, Sinbad, and old-school Cosby? I'm bringing that back.
I say with tongue-in-cheek that I’m Comedy’s Savior—OG Ryan King! Partly because I used to be a minister, partly because I’ve literally died and come back to life (three times!), but also because I’m a massive fan of the greatest comedian of all time: Jesus.
Think about it: In that fish story with the disciples, they hadn't caught anything all day. What did Jesus say? "Did you guys try throwing the net on the other side of the boat?" And how did he teach us to pray? Like that annoying neighbor who bangs on your door at midnight for bread!
The point is that life is tough, but humor can lighten the load.
Now, back to the dream.
Dodging gunfire and monsters was the climax. It all started like my real-life dream: producing a comedy show. In reality, I've got two humble shows a month. One Saturday night is adults-only, BYOB, no-holds-barred. The next day, a Sunday afternoon clean show for everyone.
And let me tell you, I hustle to fill those 45 seats. In a city of 132,000 people, with ads reaching almost a million, I sweat blood to make this show work. A full house, diverse lineup, big laughs—it's beautiful.
And that's how the dream began. A small show that suddenly exploded. More and more people poured in. Eventually, there were a thousand people! The producers from Don't Tell Comedy (seriously, guys, call me!) sent in a special guest because they heard the buzz. That guest was Dave Chappelle.
My connection to Chappelle runs deep. He lives near my hometown in Ohio and bought the building that housed the first comedy club I ever set foot in. He's an inspiration, both in comedy and community building.
But back to the dream. My dad was there, which was bittersweet. I disappointed him with my early comedy, but he'd be proud of what I'm doing now.
Chappelle brought Pete Davidson along to mentor him and add some star power. And, as always, Chappelle was cool and calm under pressure. But then the wheels came off. The Girl Scouts—bless their hearts—were causing a ruckus by selling cookies and singing songs. Then, a flood of college kids rushed in, collapsing the stage and creating chaos.
Meanwhile, I'm hosting, trying to keep my cool. My jokes were working, but the chaos was overwhelming. I started sharing my story, talking about being alive and my mission of ACT (authenticity, community, transformation). But that was too "out there" for Chappelle. He told Pete to make a run for it and called the Don't Tell Comedy bosses to give them a piece of his mind. I followed close behind.
We piled into an elevator, and Chappelle, clearly upset, asked, "Why are you doing this?" It felt like a question everyone asks me. Is it for the money? The fame?
My answer to him is the same one I give in real life: "I want to use my comedy as a ministry to heal people. To lift them up and show them we don't have to be afraid. No matter how hard life gets, humor can offer hope. It's art. It's ministry."
That calmed him, just like it calms my own doubts. This comedy ministry keeps me going, even when the news is bleak or the bills are piling up.
My Real-World Dream
They say we have a light for our path, but only some of the path is revealed. One step at a time. But first, you need a direction. I have that. Here are the following steps:
Keep the monthly 45-person shows going, one adult, one clean.
Keep finding new comedians and giving them a platform.
Start quarterly shows for 200 people.
Do open mics at nursing homes and free shows at prisons.
Try new formats: a live dating show, a cooking competition, etc.
Start a Kids' Comedy Camp.
Share my work on social media.
If you're still with me, thank you. I'm glad you're here, seeing my vision. This is a collaborative effort. Let's build this thing—together!
Thank you, friends!
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